


Ragazza Veleno

by literary_goblin



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26160268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literary_goblin/pseuds/literary_goblin
Summary: Challenges were her specialty, the sort of jobs she always took on full force. She handled risks with ease and confidence. But when her latest job involves a certain Scarecrow, this poison girl knew she was about to meet her match.
Relationships: Jonathan Crane/Original Character(s), Jonathan Crane/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	1. Dietro la Porta Cremisi

**Author's Note:**

> So, I originally began posting this fic over on FF.net back in 2016, but I took a pause from updates so I could revamp it. Ragazza Veleno has gone through quite a bit of rewrites in the last year, and so I thought I'd slowly start to post the rewritten chapters. This fic remains one of my favorite works to date, and I'm so excited to share the new and improved version with everyone!
> 
> Here's to hoping this prologue entices people to return for the rest of the story - I look forward to hearing everyone's thoughts!

It was an early spring evening in Gotham City; down in the high end Fashion District, one of the tallest and flashiest skyscrapers was buzzing with rousing activity. The building housed some of the most powerful Gotham businesses and offices, but none so notable as the business headquarters for V. Magnum Diamonds, arguably one of the most renowned jewelers on the east coast, if not throughout most of the United States. Every year, V. Magnum hosted an extravagant charity ball, auctioning off some of the finest jewelry pieces the world had to offer. The event was incredibly elite, the guest list consisting almost exclusively of Gotham's one percenters; if one's family name wasn't well known throughout the city, then chances were they weren't getting through the doors.

The Gotham Tower West's penthouse was decorated in the utmost of luxuries, expensive decor adorning the floor in every direction one looked. Golden banners, glittering chandeliers, excessively lavish flower bouquetsㅡonly the best for the big-wigs of Gotham City. Everything attuned to the grand masquerade theme, all the way down to the guests, everyone modeling the latest gala fashions in the palette of gold, black, and white.

Among all the party-goers was one Mr. Robert Waite, an infamous businessman in his late-fifties. Waite was well on his way to becoming CEO of V. Magnum Diamonds, a fact known by everyone in the room though certainly not favored by many. It wasn't information that many chose to discuss, but it was common knowledge to most in the V. Magnum circle that Waite cheated and blackmailed through the years to make his way to the top. Not only had he done such for himself, but he had utilized similar schemes to weaken the diamond and jewelry competition for years. Of course, in true Gotham fashion, nothing was done about it. No, so long as he kept bribing the right people, Waite could carry on in his money making schemes for as long as he so pleased.

The charity gala by now was in full swing, everyone having already taken part in the auction and were now mingling in every corner of the penthouse. It was at this point in the evening that Waite first noticed that he was being eyed closely from across the way by a young woman. He knew he had spotted her earlier in the evening, though he hadn't caught a glimpse of her face before. She was hard to miss, what with her bright red hair and equally eye-catching dress. Despite the invitations' firm dress code, she made the bold choice of wearing red, a shade akin to a rich garnet that was skin tight and quite flattering against her tan skin. Her fashion statement had been turning heads all eveningㅡit had certainly turned Waite's nearly every moment of the eveningㅡand yet, it seemed she never mingled. In fact, Waite began to feel nearly as if he was being circled by her, the young woman never seeming too far from wherever he was. But he was sure that was all in his headㅡwith how blatantly she stood out from the crowd, after all, Waite was sure it only seemed as if she was always nearby.

But once he finally met her eyes, Waite almost didn't want to look away. Even with the upper half of her face clad in a dainty lace mask, he could note the intensity in her expression. Her eyes were practically beckoning, daring him to approach, much to his astonishmentㅡif Waite was ever receiving attention from any woman so young and beautiful, then it was almost certain they were a whore that he was paying. A young woman giving him the time of day was often guaranteed to be a woman looking for expensive dinners, expensive jewelry, and expensive cars, but ultimately, Waite cared very little about their intent. If a woman was willing to give him a little of what he wanted to get a little of what they wanted, then who was he to object to it?

Eventually, Waite split off from his peers, his eyes roving across the crowd to quickly spot the young redhead once more. She stood at the open bar, back turned to the party as she rested her elbows on the countertop, looking to be in brief discussion with the bartender as she slid over her empty glass. Waite looked her up and down slowly, his eyes pausing on her rear for a few long moments as a hungry smirk pulled at his lips. He approached, eyes locked on the woman until the last moment when he, too, was at the bar and grabbing the bartender's attention, requesting a new drink. Waite caught the woman turning her head to watch him in his peripheral vision, then allowed his gaze to trail over, and, upon meeting her pale green eyes, she smiled flirtatiously.

"A refill for me as well." She spoke to the bartender without looking away from Waite, her voice high and sweet as her eyes shone brightly, " _Hi_."

Waite grinned back at her, "Bold fashion choice for tonight."

"You like it?" The redhead gazed at him through her lashes, her words innocent but her tone and eyes suggesting otherwise.

"Sweetheart, I don't think there's a person in this room that doesn't like it." She gave an airy giggle in response, "And if I'm not mistaken, you like something you're seeing, too."

He was obviously indicating himself, to which the young woman looked him up and down, tilting her head as she bit her lip.

"What can I say, I like an older man."

"Or is it their money you like?" Despite his question, Waite's tone was laced with flirtation.

"Can't a girl like both?" She gave him a wink and a smile, turning her attention back to the bar as their drinks were set in front of them.

"I haven't seen you at any of these parties before." Waite spoke up again after a few moments, "You new in town?"

"Visiting." She answered simply, taking a small sip from her glass, "I've got family here in Gotham."

To that, Waite quirked his lip curiously, "Must be an important family if you're at this party. Would I know them?"

The redhead simply smirked, not gracing him with a response as she lifted her drink again. Waite stared in amused curiosity, lifting his own glass to his lips.

Within minutes, the young woman had led him to a nearby table, sitting close and never diverting her attention from him. It hadn't even crossed Waite's mind that he had yet to catch her name, being easily distracted by her looks and attentiveness. She was full of questions for him, asking about everything from Waite's childhood to his pets to preference in cars. She had an eagerness to her, a seemingly genuine desire to get to know the businessman, and Waite quite happily relished the attention.

An hour and a couple drinks later, the redhead was sitting even closer than before, chin resting on her palms while her foot grazed up and down Waite's calf. Her green eyes were still bright with interest, a want lingering within them. She had just returned with another glass of Merlot for each of them, insisting that one last drink couldn't do any harm. Just as Waite started in on his drink, the young woman leaned forward, mere inches from his ear as she spoke breathily.

"You think anyone'll miss us if we take a little trip down to your office?"

Immediately, Waite felt hot under the collar, eyes dark as he smirked at the young woman.

"And what interest do you have in my office?" There was an implication to his tone and a wicked grin on her lips as the young woman nearly giggled. Her foot slid its way further up his leg until finally her heel was resting within an inch of his crotch.

"I'll give you three guesses." She whispered, and in that moment Waite twitched in his trousers.

Wordlessly, she slowly stood, her hooded eyes trained on him a moment longer before she turned and threw an expectant gaze over her shoulder. Beside himself, Waite nearly jumped out of his seat, one hand still gripped around his glass of wine while the other greedily reached for the young redhead, fingers digging into her skin as he pulled her close by the waist. With needy steps, the two quickly disappeared from the party.

As they began the journey down the elevator, the young woman knocked back the rest of her wine in one fluid motion, meeting Waite's eyes as she slowly stroked a finger across her lower lip to wipe off an excess drip of Merlot. The businessman stared at her lips hungrily, causing her to smirk.

"If you don't finish that wine, I'll have to do it for you." She teased while leaning into Waite, delicately forcing his glass back up to his mouth, practically tipping the drink between his lips.

Once they stepped off the elevator and stumbled for Waite's office, he finished the last of the drink, eagerly leading the young redhead through the halls without ever taking a hand off of her.

Finally, they found their way to his office, practically slamming the door behind themselves with fervor. In the near darkness of the office, Waite fumbled around for a few moments in search of a light switch, but was stopped by a silk-clad hand on his chest and the woman's breath against his neck, taking him by pleasant surprise.

"No need for that…" She whispered while slowly leaning into him, to which Waite grinned largely as his burly hands possessively reached around to grip her waist and rear. Appearing tantalized by the touch, the redhead stood on her toes, reaching up as her lips inched toward his.

But just within centimeters of his lips, she stopped, causing an impatient growl to escape his throat while his fingers dug into her needily. The woman looked up into his eyes innocently as she lowered back onto her heels, staring as if in anticipation of something. Waite didn't care at all for the delay, a frustrated look befalling his gaze as he was about to question her.

But before a word could leave his mouth, Waite grunted suddenly at a pang in his forehead, immediately causing him to feel dizzy and lightheaded. There was a faint ringing in his ears as he felt both discomfort and confusion, his hands lifting away from the young woman to hold his throbbing head instead.

And that's when the woman's green eyes went from innocent to menacing.

Waite's body began to feel heavy as he stumbled back to lean on the wall for support, continuing to hold his forehead as the woman stared with a straight, apathetic face. For a minute, the businessman struggled, breathing raggedly while attempting to get a grip on himself. Mouth agape and eyes wide, he met the woman's gaze again, realizing with a brief wave of anger that he had to have been drugged, but before he could speak his eyes rolled back into his head, and a moment later he collapsed onto the floor.

The woman huffed out a laugh, smirking subtly as she nudged his forgotten wine glass with her toeㅡsome people were too easy. And Robert Waite was one of those people. Upon doing her research after being asked to take on this job, the woman discovered just how easy it was going to be to trick him once she stumbled across the rumor of his problematic fascination with barely legal redheads.

With haste, the woman turned to his desk, making her way to the computer sitting atop it and quickly going to work. All too easily, she was logged in and accessing one of Waite's private foldersㅡturns out, like the simpleton he was, Waite used his _damned birthday_ for nearly _every_ password. She clicked and typed away, searching for the particular set of files her client asked for, knowing they were buried in the computer somewhere.

For a brief moment, she stole a glance up at the security camera positioned in the far corner of the room, grinning wickedly at itㅡshe knew its surveillance would be useless once she got into its system to erase the recordings of the evening. After nearly a decade in the business of thievery, she knew how useless cameras proved to be if the thief had any kind of tech skills. And those skills she picked up years ago when she was just shy of seventeen and got caught for the first time while trying to pick a lock. Since then, caution was always a priority.

Within a few more minutes, the woman located the files she was searching for, loading them to a hard drive as quickly as the system would allowㅡand there were _a lot_ of files to get throughㅡbefore completely erasing them from the computer without a trace. She then moved onto the security system, knowing this particular camera was a separate system from most of the rest in the building (if it was a camera in a private office in a flashy building, she'd learned through the years, then chances almost always were that it was installed by the specific paranoid businessman rather than the company he was tied to).

And finally, once both tasks were complete, the woman made to exit, scooping up her own wine glass and hiding it within her small clutch so as to discard it later, strolling casually for the elevator and innocently exiting the building once she reached the ground floor.


	2. Il Sentiero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank y'all so far for checking out this fic - I know the semi-mysterious prologue leaves a lot to be desired, and trust me, this chapter will shed all the light you need on what's going to happen next! Enjoy~

It was just past midnight by the time the young woman had finally returned home, a hefty stack of bills tucked into her clutch in place of the hard drive she had collected earlier in the evening. After disappearing from V. Magnum’s charity event, the woman quickly met with her client for their exchange, which went by without a single hitch, to her slightest surpriseㅡmore often than she cared for, many of her exchanges through the years always had a catch. People continuously underestimated her, trying to pull fast ones by either withholding the money or threatening her in some way or another. And each time, those people were always met with the unpleasant surprise of the woman’s preparednessㅡshe learned very early on that one never went into a new job without sufficient blackmail material on whomever it was that hired her, regardless of how trustworthy they may appear to be.

To have such a simple exchange was refreshing, she’d admitㅡit meant one less thing for her to get worked up over. And so, thanks to this evening’s simplicity, the redhead was able to comfortably return to her apartment up in the modest neighborhood of Gotham Heights.

Gotham Heights was neither flashy nor sordid, a neighborhood fitting the stereotypes of big city life. The area was deemed a “safe enough” neighborhood by the city (though “safe” really was  _ quite  _ a relative word in Gotham), but with its near proximity to the terribly seedy Narrows, the Heights was most certainly not a very desirable part of town. However, for the young woman it was convenient, an unassuming area to keep herself under the radar despite her less-than-ordinary career.

The young woman was ascending the staircase of her apartment complex quietly, footsteps light despite her heels. She wound her way up, eyes ever watchful as she went, and it was as she neared her floor that a strange sense came over her; something was off, that much she could tell. Through the years, she learned her intuition and her awareness made quite a pair, both skills sharper than the average person’s due to their necessity in her line of work.

There was a certain stillness in her apartment building that was abnormal for its occupants on a Saturday night. Often, the redhead could always hear loud music blaring from her neighbor four doors down, and yet she couldn’t even feel the bass bumping through the walls. Another neighbor just the floor below had five kids that were always breaking things or fighting regardless of time of day, and yet she couldn’t even detect a peep of the brats.

As the woman came to a halt at the head of the staircase, her eyes stared ahead intently, a slight wrinkle to her brow as she listened to the silence and processed; what could have brought pause to the usual ruckus of the building? Just her luck, the woman was sure it was somehow tied to her, and once she settled on that thought, she already began to speculate what it could be.

Her posture tightened just so as she gazed down the hall at her apartment, noticing immediately that light was casting out from beneath the doorㅡcouldn’t this problem at least have waited until morning? Pausing, she hiked up the skirt of her dress until she could reach her holster, swiping a knife free from it before beginning to take cautious steps towards the apartment. She eventually halted along the wall just beside the door so as not to cast any shadows that the person inside her apartment might see. As she studied the door for a moment, she noted that she’d need to replace her worn doorknob, as it appeared that it was obviously tampered with; the young woman rolled her eyes at the annoying inconvenience, but quickly righted herself.

In a quick motion, the redhead kicked open her door, though she immediately jumped out of its frame just in case. But instead of the sound of gunshots like a part of her had feared, her ears were met with a recognizable, gruff laugh from inside the room. She clenched her jaw and rolled her eyes again as she placed exactly why she knew that laugh, her shoulders falling lax as she rounded into the apartment.

Her face was impassive as she tossed her knife across the small distance of the living room to stick into her nearby coffee table, which was littered with dozens of other divots caused by the same blade. Crossing her arms, she used her heel to close the door behind her.

“You really have a flare for the dramatics, don’tcha?” She questioned, her voice no longer the sweet and airy pitch it had been earlier in the evening. Now, she spoke with a huskier tone, her voice laced with hints of a stereotypical mobster’s accent, though through the years she’d tried to train that out of her voice.

Across from her, sitting in a chair within a foot from where she’d thrown her knife into the table, was the Chechen, Salvatore Maroni’s fellow mobster and Gotham City’s top drug trafficker. He made no show of hiding the amusement in his smirk as he stared back at the woman, shrugging slightly at her rhetorical question.

She shook her head at his slack response, “What, couldn’t find a more convenient time to visit?”

With a jut of his lower lip and tilt of his head, the mobster spoke simply, “If midnight is good time for Maroni, then is a good time for you.”

The young woman quirked an eyebrow at his response, setting down her purse and tugging the silk gloves from her hands, tossing them aside carelessly without letting her eyes ever leave the man, “And what does Maroni need from me at fucking midnight?”

Nonchalantly, the Chechen reached for the glass sitting in front of him on the coffee table, maintaining eye contact with the woman as he lifted the dark drink to his lips. In turn, the redhead glowered; if she had to guess, that was her best rum that he was drinking, and she certainly didn’t take too kindly to the mobster rummaging through her liquor supply.

“He wants a meeting, has new job he wants to get to immediately.”

“Immediately, huh?” She pulled off the mask that had been loosely hanging off of her neck, “And I’m guessin’ you’re here to drag me there whether I like it or not?” 

As the Chechen simply nodded in response, the woman reached up to remove the annoying red wig from atop her head, the hair cap underneath quickly joining the disguise in a discarded mess on the floor. Though she was never particularly fond of disguises, she also knew their effectiveness when necessary.

The Chechen  _ tsk _ ed while watching the woman attempt to untangle her brunette locks, “Ah, red was better color for you.”

Though she bit the inside of her lip and glared, the young woman said nothing in response, stumbling to kick off her uncomfortable heels while continuing to brush her fingers through her hair.

The Chechen knocked back the last of his rum before rising to his feet, craning his neck left and right once each to stretch his muscles before walking toward the woman, preparing to brush past her and head out the door. But a small hand jutting out and a minatory expression on her face halted the mobster in his steps.

“You really think I’m going out like this?” She jeered while briefly motioning to the red dress still fitted to her body, “I’m gonna change, and how ‘bout you make me a coffee while you wait?”

The Chechen narrowed his eyes as he loomed over her, “ _ What _ ?”

With no regard for the man’s attempt at assertiveness, the woman spoke unquestionably while turning away, “It’s in the cabinet to the left of the fridge.”

As she walked toward her bedroom, a grin pulled at her lipsㅡshe always did enjoy pushing the Chechen’s buttons, knowing that he couldn’t do a single thing to her in retaliation since he was here on behalf of Don Maroni.

“Remember to add creamer too, a’ight? None of that black coffee shit.” She called back over her shoulder before closing her door without another glance back.

For a few moments, the Chechen stood and glared at her bedroom door with a furrowed browㅡhe was a mobster, not a fucking barista. Where did she get off, mocking him like this? It didn’t matter that the woman was trying to be funny, he was certainly not amused.

“I don’t hear it brewing!” Her voice called from the other room, causing the Chechen to roll his eyes as he turned to the front door, muttering to himself in his harsh native tongue.

Upon hearing her front door slam, the woman let out a single, mocking laugh in amusement as she yanked open her closet and began rummaging through her wardrobe.

* * *

It was about another hour later that the Chechen and young woman were finally walking up the rear steps of a high end club in the middle of town, neither making any show of acknowledgement for the security guard that opened the back door for them. Though the pair was silent, the establishment was vibrating from the excessive volume of the music playing from the dance floor just a short walk from the hall they passed through, and the brunette cringed as the sound rang in her ears.

Most people in Gotham had no idea that this expensive club was owned and operated by Salvatore Maroni, though the woman was sure that if that became public knowledge attendance wouldn’t drop even slightly. The lounge was deceptively high-end in comparison to the kind of places ex-Don Carmine Falcone once ran, so the concern of ownership was never a relevant thought to the citizens of Gotham.

As the pair continued toward the hub of the business, the brunette yawned loudly, stretching her arms above her head as a few small cracks sounded up her spine, “You sure this can’t wait till morning? It’s past my bedtime, you know.”

Though her humor occasionally amused the Chechen, he didn’t allow his expression to falter, continuing to escort her as they became submerged in the crowd of the club. The mobster’s lack of response caused the woman to raise an eyebrow at him, admittedly becoming more than a little interested in what kind of a job Maroni had lined up for her.

Now amongst all the drunk partiers in the club, the young woman wasn’t nearly as impressive as she had looked earlier in the evening. Without her heels, expensive dress, and makeup (which was now smudged around her eyes like a raccoon, she being too lazy to care how it looked), she was a bit of a sore thumb alongside the other woman all dressed to the nines for their night of partying. The heels the woman had worn before gave her height and power (being 5’3” wasn’t very intimidating, after all), and the dress gave her enticement and grace, elements of the character she had to play. But now, clad in an old, oversized sweater and clunky combat boots, she could have been mistaken for any other person roaming the street. That, however, was a trick she knew to be usefulㅡone never wanted to stand out from a crowd unless they had to. And when one is meeting with a guy like Sal Maroni, it was especially smart to keep as low a profile as possible.

The two criminals were a stark contrast amongst the club’s occupants, however, everyone else was much too drunk to take notice of the uncomfortably stoic pair. They finally came to reach the far end of the club, where the wall was lined with private rooms exclusively for anyone who had the money to pay for them. They paused outside one of the doors for a moment while the Chechen looked around as if suspecting that someone could be spying on them, though the young woman certainly doubted that to be true. Once the man deemed it safe to enter, he led the brunette into the room.

Upon entering the private room, the woman’s eyes immediately fell onto Sal Maroni, who sat back on a small couch comfortably, a young blonde practically in his lap. His patronizing stare turned up to meet the brunette’s eyes, giving her a grin of both familiarity and confidence.

“Ah, Octavia.” Maroni greeted in his signature condescending tone before briefly looking back to the blonde beside him, “I’m gonna need ya to leave, sweetheart.”

Quickly and wordlessly, the other woman stumbled out of the room with her eyes cast down. Octavia’s stare followed the blonde as the Chechen opened the door for her, his gaze grossly appraising as he watched the woman disappear into the crowd before he swung the door shut again. As Octavia’s eyes turned back around, Maroni was already looking back at her with foist authority in his expression.

Maroni looked Octavia up and down once, though it was unclear from his expression what he was thinking, “It’s been a while, kid.”

Octavia shrugged with a lazy humor in her eyes, “Well, ya know, between the two of us ruining reputations and killing people, we hardly have time for each other anymore.” Her lopsided grin was vaguely wicked as she dropped down onto the second couch across from Maroni without an invitation. Though it was evident in his gaze that he disapproved of her carelessness, he said nothing, reaffirming to Octavia that he knew he could only intimidate her so much.

Octavia was more comfortable than the average person around Maroni, at least to some degreeㅡthe Baresi family had been involved with the mob ever since her grandparents arrived in the United States some fifty years ago from Italy. And the family only became more solidly tied to the mob once her father and Maroni befriended each other in their preteens. Since childhood, mobsters would come around Octavia’s family home, whether it be for a simple visit or for business (of course, back in the day her mother insisted no business talk while her daughter was in the house, the young Octavia being much too nosey for anyone’s own good); and as she got older, she was taught the tricks of the trade, whether by other mob kids or by her father, though neither of them would ever admit to that in fear of what her mother might do if she found out.

If she were being technical about it, Octavia really wasn’t a part of the mobㅡshe simply got as close as could be without having to make any promises to the shady line of business that she couldn’t keep.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of havin’ your guy break into my apartment and whisk me off into the night?”

Maroni chuckled, but it was obvious he wasn’t actually amused, “Still dramatic as ever, I see.”

From where he stood by the door, the Chechen nearly scoffed, recalling how just an hour prior Octavia mocked him for his dramatics as well.

As Octavia quirked an impatient eyebrow, the mob boss continued, “We have a new job for you.”

“Yeah, I already figured that.” the young woman kicked her feet up onto the low table sitting between the two couches, “But I need to know the job before I consider agreeing to it.”

Maroni stared at Octavia’s well-worn boots for a long moment before his lofty eyes met hers again, “Well, you already know about the traction we’ve been gaining around Gotham recently.”

He was referring to the arrest of Falcone several months back. Once Carmine Falcone was taken in by the police, after his whole fake insanity gig, Sal Maroni finally had the chance to take up the mantle of the strongest crime boss in Gotham. His rise to power certainly shouldn’t have been a surprise to peopleㅡafter all, he had been grooming for the position for years, just waiting for his opportunity to take charge. Nonetheless, the other mobs weren’t prepared to see the Italians maintain their place at the top of the stack with a new man at the head.

If Octavia were to be honest, she suspected Maroni had the potential to be even more successful throughout the city than even Don Falcone was. But then again, maybe she was simply biased, having known the new mob boss her entire life while having never met the latter.

“Our Chechen friend here has been doing wonders with the drug ring since our people came to an agreement.” Maroni casually raised a hand in the direction of the man in question, who gave a smug look at the compliment he just received, “ _ However _ , we’ve taken notice of somethin’ a little… suspicious.”

“Suspicious how?” Octavia didn’t want to sound too intrigued, though she was sure Maroni noticed the interest in her sharp green eyes.

“We recently started doing some deals with a shady figureㅡ”

“Oh, someone shadier than you?” Octavia couldn’t help but quip, to which she received a warning glance from Maroni, like the kind a father gives his child when they’ve been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Behind her, Octavia was almost certain she heard the Chechen suppress a chuckle.

“We’re almost certain he ain’t keeping his promises.” Maroni continued, “He’s been working with us ‘bout a month, and we think he’s getting too comfortable; probably messin’ with all the supply that goes through him and his guys. We want you to find out what he’s up to.”

Both the mob boss and Octavia sat up a little straighter, “So, what kinda work we talkin’ here?”

“We wanna know what he’s up toㅡwhere he’s hidin’ out, why he’s doin’ whatever the hell it is he’s doin’. We let a guy like this cross the mob and it may ruin our reputation.”

“Hm, sounds complicated.” Octavia joked with a grin, though Maroni didn’t look so amused. While her expression sobered, Octavia pondered the request, “What do you plan to do if I get you the details?”

Though his shrug appeared careless, Maroni’s tone suggested he knew more than he let on, “All depends on what you bring back to us.”

In Octavia’s book, that response meant they had every intention of killing the man if they deemed it necessary; not exactly the most surprising or creative response the mob could have thought up. Octavia was numb to the idea, unphased by the suggestion of murder, to which a small part of her was amused to find how immoral she could be.

“… Well, ya have my interest.” Octavia gave a small grin as she crossed her arms, “Who’s the lucky bastard?”

Now, Maroni shared a look with the Chechen over her shoulder that didn’t sit well with Octavia. For a few long moments, her unblinking eyes studied the mobster, awaiting a reply.

“The Scarecrow.”

The young woman noticeably stiffened, gaze evident of her surprise; she wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it most certainly wasn’t  _ that _ . How and why could the mob get involved with a guy that, only about six months prior, threatened the whole of Gotham? Better yet, how could they expect her to get the intel needed without her life being completely at risk? Though she knew very little about the Scarecrow, Octavia did know that he was an integral part of some grand scheme that intended to completely crumble Gotham City down to the groundㅡdestroying the city was the last thing the mobs would want, so what could make them consider getting in league with this man?

Maroni could see the cogs turning in Octavia’s head, waiting none-so-patiently for her to finally say something, his tone mildly exasperated as he spoke, “ _ What _ , the job too big for ya?”

“If I’m bein’ honest, yeah.” She replied, “This guy isn’t just some street thug or mobster or idiot businessmanㅡyou gotta understand my concern. He won’t be an easy guy to fool.”

“Well, failure isn’t an option here, Octavia.” Maroni responded seriously, “This Scarecrow is a good ally to keep around for the sake of intimidation. But if he’s messin’ with the ring, if he’s plannin’ something we don’t know about, we gotta teach him a lesson. What’ll it say about us if he gets away with it? If there’s trouble, we gotta get him outta our hair.”

Octavia was near flabbergasted, “You’re telling me you plan to potentially kill the Scarecrow if need be?” She barked a single, harsh laugh, “I don’t imagine that going according to your plan.

“Besides, don’t you think you’d know if the Scarecrow was up to something? I mean, this is one of the assholes that tried to drug the entire city with some fear gasㅡwouldn’t you be able to tell if that crap got mixed up with your supply?”

“You know what we’re peddlin’ out there, kidㅡeverything we’re selling can cause paranoia and hallucinations, it’s harder to tell if he is or isn’t tamperin’. Our reach is so wide that it isn’t always easy to keep track of where our ring is connected.”

“Then why don’t you test your stuff?” Octavia questioned obviously, raising her arms in question with an almost mocking look on her face.

“You think we haven’t considered that?” Maroni’s tone was as incontestable as hers, “We’re working on it. But if he is messin’, I wanna know what his plan isㅡthat’s where you come in. Believe it or not, you’re one of the best Gotham has to offer.”

“I believe it.” Octavia responded cockily, nearly smirking as the two gangsters rolled their eyes, “But he’s smarter than the average criminal; he’s gonna be a challenge.”

“Look,” it was clear in Maroni’s tone that he was getting tired of this squabble, “what would pops say about you backin’ outta a job opportunity?”

Octavia rolled her eyes at the lame attempt, “You and I both know he wouldn’t say shit; he’d be glad that I wasn’t stupid enough to take on a job that I may not be able to handle, so don’t try bringin’ the family into this.”

Maroni, after seeing that, as he suspected, this particular manipulation tactic wouldn’t work on the woman, sighed, “Octavia, we want you on this. I’ve discussed it with a few colleaguesㅡ” at that, the man stole a glance up at the Chechen, “ㅡand you’re the kid for the job. And imagine, you could be the person that brings down the Scarecrow; think of the kinda recognition you’d get for that.”

Octavia wouldn’t admit that a small part of her was fond of that last suggestionㅡshe could be  _ a bit _ egotistical, she knew, but doesn’t everyone want recognition for their hard work every now and again?

However, being a criminal herself was a severe hindrance; if the public got word that she was the person to take down the Scarecrow, she could only imagine the kind of dirt that the police would surely attempt to dig up on her.

“ _ Octavia _ .” she looked back up at Maroni after realizing how long she’d been silent, “We don’t got all night.”

“All morning.” She muttered obnoxiously, unable to refrain from her default attitudeㅡnow  _ really _ wasn’t the time for her to be a smart ass, which was obvious from the expression on the mobster’s face.

Octavia’s thoughts were traveling a mile a minute as she tried to decide what the hell she was going to do. She could feel the pressure of the eyes of the two gangsters, which only made her brain work more frantically.

Of course this job would be risky, but hadn’t she been in enough dicey situations before to be prepared for something like this? And she could admit that, though initially off put by the Scarecrow six months ago (like many other Gothamites, she too was impacted by his so called “Terror Night”, though that’s a story for another time), she was ultimately fascinated by himㅡhe had half the city in the palm of his hand, even if just briefly, and that was undeniably admirable and interesting to Octavia.

“Okay.”

She spoke before realizing the conclusion she had come to, “I’ll do it.” Maroni grinned largely, prepared to speak, “ _ But _ , I need some wiggle room on this.” To that, the mobster looked confused, “Yeah, yeah, I know ya said failure wasn’t an option, but honestly, in this position, I need ya to understand the possibility of that. This job would challenge anyone.”

For a few long moments, Maroni was silent in thought, eyes never leaving the young woman’s face. Octavia stared right back, bullheaded in her decision.

“Fine, if you mess this up we won’t kill ya.”

Octavia’s eyes widened just slightly with a scoff as she leaned forward, unclear on whether or not the mob boss was perhaps making a shitty attempt at a joke, “You planned on  _ killing me _ ?”

Maroni held up his hands in lazy surrender, though he didn’t seem to regret the words that had just left his mouth, “Kid, this isn’t the fucking Boys and Girl Clubㅡmistakes aren’t exactly acceptable here.”

Octavia rolled her eyes while rising to her feet, “You think killing people solves anything, don’tcha?”

The man shrugged nonchalantly, lower lip quirking, “It’s worked for me so far.”

“Whatever…” Octavia let out a long sigh that turned into a yawn, “Look, I’m goin’ homeㅡwe can finish up this business once I’ve slept for a few hours.” Without a care for any of the mobsters’ potential disagreement, she turned for the door, “Send someone to my apartment tomorrow so we can work out a contract.”

“You better not be standing me up, kid.” Maroni responded as Octavia paused beside the Chechen, who looked down at her with watchful eyes.

With a tired grin that didn’t reach her eyes, Octavia turned back around briefly, her voice exaggerated, “Stand  _ you _ up? I would  _ never _ .”

And with that, Octavia brushed passed the Chechen and exited the room, hearing he and Maroni begin discussion before the door was even entirely closed. However, all she was concerned about was falling into the mess of pillows and blankets waiting for her back home.

* * *

The following day, Octavia sat in front of her computer, researching all there was to find on Jonathan Crane. Before choosing any plan of action, especially on this job, she had to know what she was going up against. And with a target like the Scarecrow, she knew she  _ really _ had to get all the information she could find.

As was expected, there was a lot to be found online about his Terror Night, which had been making news headlines for weeks six months back. Though she was more than aware of what occurred that night, Octavia nonetheless scoured through each and every thing she found, looking for even the slightest trace of anything new.

Digging further back, she found a few more articles from his time as the director of Arkham Asylum, though in all of those he was only briefly mentioned. More still, she found a couple pages from way back before he worked at Arkham, when he was still a professor at Gotham University. At that, she quirked an amused brow, wondering how those students felt today seeing what their teacher had become.

Being the kind of spy she was, Octavia eventually knew she’d have to dig deeper than what the public access had to offer, so she turned to more private systems, consisting of both the Gotham Police Department’s and Arkham Asylum’s database (both of which she got into relatively easily, something that she was certain would frustrate the hell out of the police if they found out that someone hacked their system  _ again _ ).

Sometime in the middle of the afternoon, the Chechen and another of his men let themselves into her apartment as Octavia sat at the desk beneath her large, arched windowㅡthe frustration in her expression was obvious, both at the men for just waltzing in and at herself for not getting that doorknob replaced first thing that morning. As Octavia spat some harsh remark about their unannounced appearance, the Chechen held up his hands in a lazy defence.

“Just letting you know our next meeting with Scarecrow.”

Octavia studied him for a second longer before huffing and turning her eyes back to her computer, muttering under her breath, “Could of just fuckin’ called…”

Beside her, Octavia heard the Chechen grumble something as well, a degree of impatience to his tone as he continued, “Friday; parking garage between science building and Sionis Industries in Lower Proper.”

As Octavia absentmindedly chewed on a pen between her teeth, she nearly felt a small smirk cross her lipsㅡshe hadn’t heard the name Sionis in a while, and recalling the man behind the name caused her to huff out a faint laugh through her nose.

“Maroni wants me to track Scarecrow from there, then?” It really wasn’t a question, but Octavia nonetheless asked it just so they all knew they were on the same page. She had already intended on asking the Chechen about his meeting schedule with Crane, as she knew she couldn’t just walk up into any old scummy bar and ask about his whereaboutsㅡthough she didn’t know the man, Octavia already knew Crane was too smart to allow his location to be known or discovered by just anyone.

Octavia stood, walking to one of her shelves along a wall and beginning to rifle through its content; for someone so seemingly efficient at their job, one would think said person would be a little better organized. She lifted up a small, rectangular electronic device to the men’s gazes, causing question to cross their expressions.

“What is that?”

“A tracker.” Octavia spoke obviously, “During your meeting, I’m gonna get it on his car to follow him wherever the hell he’s hiding out.” She set it down among her stack of papers, her tone mildly condescending, “It’s  _ pretty _ simple, I’m surprised none of you thought of it yet.”

The Chechen glowered, receiving a mocking grin from the young woman.

“I need some info on your meeting; gotta set my plan.” Octavia returned to her desk and leaned her rear against it, crossing her arms casually as she looked at the Checen expectantly.

“10pm, lowest level; in and out quick, less than fifteen minutes. Lights in garage are garbage, but sound travels easy; must be quiet.” 

As soon as the men had left, Octavia returned to her research, eyes falling onto an image of Jonathan Crane being taken into custody by the police. She studied his expression for a few long momentsㅡhe was incredibly calm and collected despite the circumstances, an air of coolness in his eyes, contrasting with the chaos going on around him. Perhaps in another lifeㅡif she hadn’t been asked to ruin his business and if he wasn’t some crazed criminalㅡshe imagined he’d be the odd type of guy she’d attempt to flirt with at some high class party, though he also struck her as the type that would most definitely turn his nose up at her if she ever tried.

The humor of her imagination caused Octavia to grin, but she quickly shook the idea offㅡshe had a job to do, and she’d be damned if she let herself be distracted so easily by such irrelevant reverie.


End file.
